


Monsters in the Woods

by halcyon1993



Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Breeding, Extremely Dubious Consent, Full Moon, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Love, Marking, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mating, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Top Derek Hale, Virgin Sacrifice, Watersports, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: For centuries, the residents of Beacon Hills have had a pact with the monsters living in the woods surrounding the town, a pact which promises protection. Every year, an offering of someone untouched must be made. This year, it’s Stiles’ turn.





	Monsters in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pysslis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pysslis/gifts).



> Once again, don't judge me for the depravity I have written...
> 
> Thank you to [Pysslis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pysslis/pseuds/Pysslis) for this prompt, and to my betas [Tom_Webb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Webb) and [WURFMUCKI](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WURFMUCKI) for correcting my mistakes.

There are monsters living in the woods.

Stiles and every other person in Beacon Hills has been told the stories over and over again since they were old enough to understand language. They were scary stories, and even though it has been a few years since he last heard them in their entirety, Stiles remembers every single word of them.

The monsters have been there for centuries. Back at the start, every month the townspeople would go to sleep one night with the light of the moon shining through their windows, and in the morning there would be someone missing. That someone was always a teenager who was pure and untouched. No one knew what happened to them, and if they did, they didn't talk about it.

Most assumed the teenagers were killed, and those who remained were torn between their virtue and wanting to keep their lives. Some broke the taboo and had unwedded relations, but not everyone. It went on for over one hundred years, until one of the monsters was caught in the act.

To Stiles, the monster was described as a hideous, deformed thing with razor-sharp teeth, evil red eyes and thick fur on a body eight feet tall. The scream of the woman who was unlucky enough to come upon it was said to have been so loud that it woke the entire town. There were pitchforks and torches and even talk of a hunt. Now that they knew what it was, they thought they could kill it.

But there was more than one.

There was a fight, and the townspeople suffered heavy losses before one of the monsters changed into human form and made an offer. A treaty was written and sealed with blood. It stipulated that an offering would be made at the passing of each year, and in exchange, the monsters would take only that one offering and no more.

In the present, Stiles exits his house and feels a deep sense of paranoia because it's the eve of the new year and he is still eligible for the offering. He has been fortunate enough to avoid being chosen so far, but he is unsure if he can make it through his last two teen years without doing something about his virginity. An easy solution would be to just sleep with someone, of course. It's what his few friends did as soon as they first turned the right age.

But that hasn't been an option for Stiles so far. Not that he hasn't tried—he has, many times and with many different people. It's just that none of those people have wanted to have sex with _him_. It used to bother him, made him feel inadequate and undesirable. But, as he walks down Main St. and approaches the only book shop in town—which only recently opened—he thinks that he may not be so undesirable after all.

The bell above the door rings as Stiles steps through it. The shop itself is really not all that much, consisting of just one small room with large bookcases against three of the walls and another two standing back to back in the centre, splitting the space in half. But, in spite of its size, the shop contains more books than Stiles would know what to do with. The shelves of all of the bookcases are so weighted down with the things that they dip in the middle. It's Stiles' favourite place to be, and not just because he considers himself a bibliophile.

No, what keeps drawing him back is the man behind the till.

For a few weeks now Stiles has been coming to the book shop just to see Derek Hale, ever since the man moved to town and opened it. A few years older than Stiles, Derek is the definition of masculine beauty. He has dark hair that Stiles wants to run his fingers through and a short, neat beard he wants to feel scraping over every inch of his skin. Derek is tall and his body broad and muscular, strong enough to pin Stiles down so that he can have his way with him—not that Stiles would put up any resistance in that scenario. He likes the idea of being submissive in bed.

Derek's nose is sharp and his eyebrows thick, and his eyes are the most entrancing shade of hazel Stiles has ever seen. They're gorgeous, and Stiles could easily get lost in them whenever Derek looks at him. In fact, he _has_ gotten lost in them on several deeply embarrassing occasions, usually when the man is speaking. And _God_ …Derek's voice. It's deep and smooth. Stiles wants to hear it whisper filthy words in his ear late at night, preferably during the aforementioned pinning down.

"Back so soon?" Derek smirks, looking up as Stiles approaches him.

The man wears a pair of black trousers and a brown shirt with the top few buttons undone, exposing a generous portion of his hairy chest. Stiles suspects that the shirt is a couple of sizes too small, but he isn't complaining.

"Yeah," he answers, already blushing under the man's scrutiny.

"Just can't stay away, can you?"

"You caught me."

His smirk relaxing into a fond smile, Derek beckons him closer. "Your timing is excellent."

"Why's that?" Stiles asks, his curiosity piqued.

"I got an order in this morning of something I know you'll love."

"Really?"

"Really. C'mon, I'll show you."

Derek gestures for Stiles to follow him through the curtain separating the shop floor from the back room. Stiles has never entered this space before and looks around with wide eyes, taking it all in. There are around two hundred more books set in a couple of bookcases to the left, multiple copies of the same ones that Stiles presumes are popular sellers. To the right there is a chair beneath a long wooden counter, upon which is a kettle, a couple of large mugs, two jars of tea and coffee and, a couple of feet apart from the rest, an open ledger.

"Please, take a seat," Derek offers, pointing to the chair. "It'll take me a minute to find it. The water in the kettle is still hot, so help yourself."

"Thank you."

Stiles makes himself some tea and sips it slowly, feeling it settle warm in his stomach. After a few moments spent scanning the shelves, Derek pulls out a book and hides it behind his back as he walks over to where Stiles sits.

"How long are you going to keep me in suspense?" Stiles pouts.

"Just a bit longer," the bearded man teases.

"You're particularly mean today…"

Derek's beautiful eyes sparkle with amusement. "Now, is that any way to speak to someone who has something great to show you?"

"Yes."

Chuckling, Derek plucks the half-empty mug out of Stiles' hand, sets it down on the counter and finally brings his other hand around from behind his back. When Stiles looks down at the cover of the book Derek proffers, his mouth drops open on a gasp and he immediately snatches it from him. His behaviour elicits another laugh from the man, this one more effusive.

"Is this a first-edition of _The Werewolf of Paris_?!" Stiles squeals.

"It is."

Stiles practically vibrates in his chair. "How did you get this?!"

"I know a guy who knows a guy."

Carefully thumbing the book open, Stiles reads the first couple of lines of the first page and raises his gaze to the man in front of him. "I can't believe you have this. It must have cost you a fortune!"

Derek shrugs the comment off. "I got a good deal on it."

Stiles holds out the book. "Here. You'll probably want to keep this somewhere safe before it gets damaged or something."

Shaking his head, Derek gently pushes the book back at Stiles instead of taking it. "It's yours."

"Mine?" Stiles gapes. "But this is so rare!"

"I know. I also know you love that stuff. Why do you think I got it in the first place?"

"Y-you bought it for me?"

"Of course."

"But why?"

Derek grins. "Consider it a gift for my most valued and handsome customer."

His face once more turning a furious red, Stiles tucks the book under his arm and stands up. He can't bring himself to look into Derek's eyes again just yet, so he speaks to the middle of his chest instead—and what a fine chest it is. "I should probably get going," he says breathlessly. "I've still gotta get some things. I'm preparing dinner tonight."

"Alright," Derek accepts. He puts a hand on the small of Stiles' back. "I'll see you out."

Stiles allows himself to be lead under the curtain, past the cash register and to the door, all the while trying to hide the pleased smile on his lips. "Thank you. Y'know, for the book," he says awkwardly, risking peeking up at Derek through his eyelashes.

The man grins at him. "You're welcome."

Stiles reaches for the door handle and pulls, the bell above his head jingling again. He steps outside.

"I'll see you later," Derek calls after him with a wave.

Stiles, supposing that the man means the next day, waves back and starts walking. When he is halfway up the street he looks back over his shoulder and finds Derek still standing in the open doorway of his shop, watching him. The expression on his face can only be described as hungry.

* * *

That evening, Stiles sits on his bed and reads his new book, his heart full. In his hands he holds what he thinks is concrete proof that Derek likes him back, is interested in him in a way no one has been before. He called him 'handsome', too. As he nears the middle of it, Stiles makes a promise to himself: the next time he sees Derek, he'll gather his courage and finally ask him on a date.

An hour into reading he begins to drift off, his eyes drooping just as the clock on his wall ticks over to 11:00 p.m.

He doesn't stay drowsy for long.

One moment all is quiet, and then the next Stiles' bedroom door is thrown open and a couple of men enter the room. Flailing, the book falls onto the bedsheets—spine-side down, thankfully, so the pages aren't ruined. Stiles shakes with fright as he takes in the newcomers, their expressions grim and their eyes sympathetic but purposeful.

"W-what's going on?" Stiles asks, even though he thinks he already knows.

"You've been chosen," one of the men explains. Stiles thinks he lives a couple of streets over.

"No, no, that can't be right!" he shouts, crawling backward across his bed and toppling to the floor. When he looks up he sees the men looming over him.

"I'm afraid it is," another says. "I'm sorry."

The next few seconds are a blur, and when Stiles manages to get his breathing under enough control for him to tune back into his surroundings, he finds himself being carried out of his house by the men, his feet dragging uselessly across the hardwood floor. He glimpses his dad staring into space in the living room and tries to call out for him, to beg him to help, but his voice doesn't work. He can't move either, and he wonders whether it's just the shock of the situation or if one of the men gave him something in the commotion.

All Stiles can think of as they carry him outside and toward a large truck parked on the curb is Derek. He'll never see him again…

He'll never know what they could have had.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Stiles is powerless as he is dumped in the back of the truck and the doors are slammed shut, enclosing him in pitch-black darkness. He lies there, feeling the vehicle come to life beneath him and hearing the driver singing obnoxiously in the cab.

He doesn't know how much time passes, but eventually the truck stops and the doors are thrown open again. Stiles is pulled out and he blinks through the night to look at their new location. When his eyes focus, he sees that they're a few feet into the woods and the men are taking him further inside. He tries again to make his body cooperate with him, but it just doesn't obey his commands. Drugs, then. He stares at the ground, resigned to his fate as some horrible monster's dinner.

"Here it is," the man to Stiles' left says after long minutes of walking.

Stiles looks up and finds a huge rock before him, positioned in the middle of a stone platform. There are two ropes anchored into the top, clearly meant to tie someone to it.

"Let's get this over with quickly."

When the men tug at his clothes, panic flares in Stiles' chest as he realises that they intend to strip him naked.

"N-no…" he manages to get out, a whisper.

"Sorry, kid, but it has to be done."

Stiles' shirt is ripped from his torso, goosebumps appearing on his pale skin as it is introduced to the cool air. His socks are next, and then his trousers and underwear are pulled off of his legs in one fluid motion, leaving Stiles completely exposed.

The men toss his clothes aside and bring him over to the rock. They pull his arms up and tie the ropes around his wrists so tightly that they immediately begin to chafe and cut off his circulation. Stiles supposes it's to prevent him from escaping whenever he regains control of his body.

With the restraints in place, the men step back and one of them produces a box of matches from his pocket. He crouches down and lights all of the half-melted candles that are around the edge of the stone platform, which Stiles hadn't noticed before. Once the last candle is lit, the man steps off of the platform and rejoins his companion.

"Let's get out of here," he says, and then they're gone.

Stiles is left entirely alone in the middle of the woods, with nothing to do but wait to meet his maker.

* * *

Stiles stands tied to the rock for what he guesses is around half an hour before something happens. By that point he is shivering from the cold and can move. He feels tired again, but he is also filled with so much fear and anticipation that his eyes close only to blink. All around him is nothing but silence, which is unnerving. He would expect to hear some sort of wildlife, owls at the very least, but there is _nothing_.

Animals evidently avoid this place.

When Stiles finally hears something other than his own racing heart, he whips his head to the right and peers at the section of dense trees from which he believes the noise came. He sees nothing but the bark of dark-brown trunks, but he keeps looking until the noise repeats itself, this time on the other side of the clearing. Looking that way now, Stiles sees the same thing. Either there are multiple monsters lurking in the shadows, or there is a lone, agile one. Stiles honestly doesn't know which possibility he is more afraid of.

He tugs on his restraints, but it's a waste of energy. They stay around his wrists. "Hello?" he calls timorously, just wanting it over.

The sound again.

Stiles forces himself to take a breath. "Come out!" he yells, his voice stronger.

The sound comes a fourth time, closer now. Stiles waits, his racing heartbeat deafening him, until finally he sees movement.

Through the trees emerges a figure. Stiles can't make out much, but he can see that it's huge, with two burning-red pinpricks for eyes. The stories got that part right, at least. The figure steps into the clearing but stays on the very edge of it. Stiles can see its eyes raking over him and feels violated.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks, trying to goad the beast into just killing him. It would be preferable to the waiting.

The monster growls lowly, an intimidating sound. It walks further forward and this time doesn't stop until it has stepped into the golden light of the candles, allowing Stiles to see everything. Stiles wants to scream, but he can't draw enough air into his lungs and doesn't think his vocal chords would cooperate anyway. All he can do is stare wide-eyed at the beast.

Vaguely humanoid, its fur is dark and coarse along its arms, legs and back but soft-looking down its front. It has large claws at the ends of long fingers that could rip Stiles apart in the space of a few seconds. Its legs jut out of human hips but its feet are paws and at its ankles it has the forward hock joints of a wolf. Between its legs Stiles sees swollen, low-hanging balls below a furry sheath, out of which about an inch of tapered red cock peeks. He observes all of these details in the space of a second, and then his attention is solely on the beast's head.

It's exactly like a wolf's, with triangular ears, a long muzzle and white fangs glinting in the moonlight.

Stiles whimpers. "Oh God…"

Slowly, the beast closes the rest of the distance between them and steps up onto the platform. It moves until they are inches apart and its hands are positioned on either side of Stiles' head. The human can feel warmth radiating off of the beast and instinctively arches into it. He only realises what he is doing when soft fur brushes against his sternum, at which point he makes himself stop.

The beast doesn't do anything but stare down at Stiles for the longest time, those low growls still emanating from its barrel-like chest. Stiles stares up at it, too, and gradually calms down until his heart beats only a little faster than its resting rate. He wraps his hands around the ropes keeping him tied to the rock and grips them to give himself something tangible to hold on to, to keep himself grounded.

What feels like an eternity later, the beast finally does something else and lowers its snout slowly to Stiles' neck. It's not what Stiles was expecting, and he holds his whole body taut as the beast's wet nose ghosts across his vulnerable skin. Stiles guesses that the beast is scenting him, and it must like what it smells because the growling coming from its chest gets even louder and he hears its claws cutting grooves into the rock.

This close, Stiles' nose is filled with the scent of the beast as well, but again it's not what he expected. It's musky but still clean, with a hint of something familiar in it that Stiles has trouble placing. It almost sets him at ease.

Almost.

When the beast stops sniffing him, it takes a step backward and raises one of its hands. Stiles shies away from its claws, but he can't really go far. He shuts his eyes tightly as they come at him lightning-quick, but all that happens is the pressure around his wrists vanishes. When he hears the beast make a short huffing sound akin to laughter, Stiles risks opening one eye and looks up to see that the ropes keeping him tied to the rock have been cut.

Lowering his aching arms, Stiles moves off the side and glares at the beast, which seems to find his fear of death funny. At least he knows now that it has some form of sentience.

"Asshole…" he mutters, ripping the remains of the ropes from his sore wrists to restore the blood flow.

The beast stops making noise then, and Stiles takes another step away from it. Before he can even consider turning around and running, he is surrounded by fur and picked up in strong arms. He doesn't bother struggling.

Stiles is carried down off of the stone platform and lain with a surprising amount of care on the grass, supine. He looks up at where the beast stands over his feet and wonders what is going to happen next, and then he feels something hot raining down on him and gets his answer. Lowering his gaze from the beast's face, he makes a noise of disgust when he sees the arc of pale-yellow urine coming from the tip of its partially emerged cock.

He gets his arms beneath him, intending to crawl out of range, but the way the beast growls at him and bares its fangs tells Stiles that moving wouldn't be a good idea. He is forced to stay there on the grass and get pissed on. The acrid stench of it clogs his nose, and he puts up a perfunctory verbal protest before officially giving up and letting his body go lax on the ground. This submission seems to please the beast, because it stops growling at him.

It showers him in its piss for almost a full minute, the size of its bladder obviously proportional to the rest of it. When the stream finally ends, Stiles is wet and sticky all over, even on his face, thanks to the droplets that slashed off of his chest. He's thankful none got in his eyes.

"How is this my life?" he whispers.

With no more urine to douse Stiles in, the beast crouches down and turns the boy over onto his front. Stiles' hips are hiked up and then he feels warm breaths puffing out across his bare ass. He jolts at first, knowing very well where this is going, but he makes himself stay put so as to not give the beast any reason to harm him.

Huge hands palm his smooth cheeks and pull them apart, and Stiles shivers as hot breaths hit his virgin hole dead-on. He clenches it instinctively, which seems to be all the enticement the beast requires to start licking at him.

Its tongue feels strange. Stiles has imagined something like this being done to him in the past, but the tongue doing it was never this rough. Or strong. With each lick it forces his little hole open slightly more until it is able to actually slip past the first tight ring. Stiles can't stop himself from moaning at the feeling of that wriggling muscle up inside of him, and he buries his face in his forearms to smother the sound. He feels sick for enjoying it.

"F-fuck…" he gasps when the tongue goes deep, claws causing ten pinpricks of blood to bead up on his cheeks.

The beast eats him out for God knows how long, until finally it is satisfied and Stiles feels it slide up his back. It's so big that its hands end up in front of Stiles' face and its head comes to rest directly on top of his. He feels its cock poking at him gently, but even that gentleness isn't enough to prevent each poke from hurting him. The length of the beast's cock slides between his cheeks, hot pre-come combining with slobber to slick him up even more, and Stiles balks when he feels the sheer size of it. It must have all emerged from the sheath when the beast was rimming him, and Stiles is sure there's no way that can fit.

He tries to tell the beast as much but, as he opens his mouth, it's already too late.

With one powerful thrust, the beast's whole cock is in. Stiles screams into his forearms as he is unmercifully split open, the virginal walls of his ass protesting as they are forced apart. The beast stays still once it has buried itself to the hilt, the soft fur of its sheath and balls resting against the bottom of Stiles' ass and his own smaller balls. He pants openmouthed as his whole body is wracked with pain, until suddenly, as quickly as the pain had come, it disappears again. It's like he is cut off from his own body, like there is something numbing it.

Confused, Stiles takes stock of himself and detects an alien sensation coming from his left forearm. One of the beast's hands is wrapped around it, and where there is no fur on its palm Stiles can just about see black spiderweb veins crawling up it. Somehow, whatever the beast is doing is taking the pain, and Stiles can't help but be grateful—even though it was the beast's fault he was in pain in the first place.

When the beast releases his arm, Stiles is able to feel all of himself again. His ass still stings, but it isn't anywhere near as bad as it was.

The beast takes Stiles' lack of screaming as permission to move. It withdraws about halfway from the boy and thrusts slowly back inside, its thick tapered cock reaching places deep within Stiles' ass he didn't even know he could feel like he is now. Gradually, the pace increases until the beast is fucking him within an inch of his life, the occasional thrust glancing off of his prostate and making fireworks explode behind his eyelids. He starts moaning nearly continuously as he is jostled about beneath the beast's huge frame, his earlier fear and disgust being melted away by white-hot pleasure.

Stiles' cock is quick to get with the programme, hardening between his legs and dripping pre-come onto the grass beneath him. He tries to touch himself, to help himself along to his orgasm, but as soon as his right hand begins drifting down his body to his erection the beast stops and bites into the back of his neck. Freezing out of instinct, Stiles waits bug-eyed for the beast to sink its fangs deeper into him and bite his head clean off, but that doesn't happen.

A few moments later, when he hasn't moved at all, the beast starts fucking him again and Stiles gets the message: No touching himself.

"Damn it!" he gasps, frustrated because he knows it would be so easy and feel _so good_. He hates the beast for denying him that, and he hates himself as well for enjoying what is happening to him so much.

Eventually, the beast starts fucking him impossibly harder. Stiles doesn't know why at first, but then he detects a sizeable bump at the base of the beast's cock that is trying to push past his tight hole. He doesn't know much about canine/lupine anatomy, but he did see a couple of stray dogs mating once when he was a kid and knows vaguely what a knot is. That must be what is happening to him now. Wolves are like giant dogs, he figures, and the beast on top of him is like a wolf/human hybrid on steroids, complete with the pinkish-red cock.

Those terrifying fangs clamp down on Stiles again, this time around his shoulder. It's very effective at holding him in place, making sure he has nowhere to go as the knot continues to batter against his hole, demanding entrance. Stiles can do nothing but let it happen. He tries not to tense up any further, assuming that it will be easier that way, but it still hurts when the knot finally pops past the first ring of muscle and ruins him.

He screams again, a choked sound that ends on a high-pitched whimper. The beast makes a similar sound as it locks them together and Stiles feels it coming inside, its massive cock twitching every second or two as its balls empty, filling him with copious amounts of thin seed.

Instead of turning them so they're ass-to-ass like the stray dogs did, the beast wraps its arms around Stiles' torso and lifts him up. It sits with its hind legs stretched out along the grass and keeps Stiles firmly in its lap—as if he could go anywhere else, what with the massive knot lodged in his ass. He rests back against the warm body behind him and shakes with the intensity of it all. The beast's arms stay wrapped around him, holding him close as the hairs on Stiles' head are disturbed by each one of its panted breaths.

Once Stiles gets used to the obscene stretch, it's actually not that uncomfortable. As scary as the beast is to look at, just focusing on its warmth does wonders to keep Stiles from panicking again, and he can almost pretend that he is in Derek's lap with Derek deep inside of him.

Not quite, but almost.

His cock is still heavy between his legs, but he doesn't dare try to touch it again. The knot is a constant pressure on his prostate, making it so he can't relax completely and his arousal never goes away. In fact, it soon becomes quite torturous, the persistent stimulation making him feel as if he is right on the edge of coming but never actually getting the pleasure.

"P-please," he croaks, digging his nails into the hard flesh of the beast's arm. "I need to come…"

The beast produces a deep, rumbling sound from its chest that Stiles feels to his very core and rearranges them. It lies down flat on the ground and brings Stiles with it. The boy looks up at the stars in the sky and doesn't protest at all when huge hands slide beneath his thighs and lift his middle up about an inch or so, as far as the knot will allow them to separate without doing him any damage. The beast keeps him there, plants its feet firmly and begins shallowly thrusting up into Stiles, the knot moving around inside of him, stretching him even further.

The stars in the sky are replaced by different kinds of stars now. Stiles turns his head to press his face into the beast's neck to hide himself. He smells that familiar smell again and still can't figure out where he knows it from, but it's enough. That perfect scent combined with the beast's knot battering against the special bundle of nerves inside his ass finally pushes him off of the cliff.

He cries out and splatters his torso with own release. It goes on for an interminable amount of time, just getting more and more amazing because the beast doesn't stop moving.

When finally the beast takes mercy on him and Stiles comes back down, he is so tired he can't even open his eyes. He lies there, stuffed full of and surrounded by the beast, its arms wrapped almost lovingly around him again, its fur becoming tacky with Stiles' semen.

He soon falls asleep.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up again, he finds himself somewhere completely different. He is no longer in that clearing in the woods but instead in someone's bedroom, tucked in beneath soft red sheets in a huge bed. The overhead light is switched on and no sunlight is visible behind the curtains, so Stiles assumes that only a few hours have gone by.

Frowning and ruminating on whether or not the whole encounter with the beast was just some awful dream—or maybe a wonderful one—he pushes back the sheets and sits up, at which point he discovers categorically that it was _not_ a dream. His ass is incredibly sore and leaks watery seed. It's so stretched that he doesn't think he can fully clench it shut.

"But then where is…?" he wonders aloud, sliding delicately to the side of the bed.

The floor is hardwood and cold beneath his bare feet, so cold that Stiles almost doesn't want to get up from the bed. But he forces himself to be brave and leaves its comfort. He brings the top sheet with him, wrapping it around himself like a toga. Ignoring everything else in the bedroom, Stiles opens the door and steps outside into a long hallway. There are several other doors along it, but he pays these no mind either and walks toward the stairs he can see at the end.

Only on the ground floor does he stop to take everything in. Whoever lives in the house obviously has a lot of money. Everything looks expensive, from the leather sofa in the living room, to the huge and heavy-looking television sitting atop a wooden unit opposite it. The hardwood floors continue, but there is a rectangular green-and-brown rug laid in the hallway that leads to what Stiles guesses is a kitchen. He ventures there next, and sat on a chair at a table is a man.

Not just any man.

"W-what the hell?" Stiles stammers, stunned.

Derek turns around and grins at him. "Mate," is all he says.

"What? What's going on?"

"Shh, everything's alright," Derek soothes, standing up and drawing Stiles into a hug.

Stiles is still too stunned to stop it, but he is able to speak again. "H-how did I get here? Did you save me?"

"Save you?" Derek echoes. He chuckles. "There was nothing to save you from."

"But that monster…" Stiles whispers, bemused. Was sex all it wanted in the end, and after it fucked him it left again? He can't make sense of it.

Drawing back, Derek is still smiling but there is apprehension in it now. He doesn't release Stiles, keeps his hands on his shoulders to prevent him from moving further away. "That was me," he says gently. "I'm a werewolf, Stiles. The 'monsters' the humans of Beacon Hills are so afraid of? We're all werewolves."

"You— I don't… _what_?!" Stiles squeaks, struggling to understand what Derek has just told him.

"Centuries ago, my people were dying," Derek elucidates, his eyes cast down and seeing something Stiles can't. "They were being killed out by those who didn't understand us, who feared us. Our numbers were becoming fewer and fewer, and if we didn't do something we would have gone extinct. So, we came up with a solution. We moved far away from those who would hurt us, to here, and we would go into the town and find suitable mates, people with which we could reproduce."

Catching up now, Stiles' heart pounds. "You lied to me…" he whispers. He wrenches himself free from Derek's grip, backs up a few paces and hits a wall.

"I didn't lie," Derek refutes bashfully. "I just…omitted certain parts of the truth."

"Those are fucking _huge_ omissions, Derek!" Stiles screeches.

"I suppose, but I swear nothing was an out-and-out lie. Please, let me explain and it'll all make sense, I promise."

Still finding himself unable to refuse Derek when the man stares earnestly at him, Stiles nods jerkily. "Fine. Go on."

"We don't kill anyone, Stiles. We never have. The people we take all stay alive until they die of old age," Derek says. He risks taking a step forward to close the distance between them but stops immediately when Stiles flinches. His countenance becomes sad. "Over the years, our race repopulated, until someone got careless and was caught."

Stiles recalls the stories his dad used to tell him. "And then a fight broke out…"

"Yes. Much blood was spilled, but an agreement was eventually made to prevent more."

"The offerings."

"By that point, we had enough numbers to make do with just one new mate a year," Derek continues. He crosses his arms over his chest, a protective action Stiles suspects is to combat the vulnerability he feels recounting his race's history. Stiles still can't quite comprehend that the person he has fallen in love with over the past few months isn't human, but he keeps listening, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Every year, someone from my pack moves into town, posing as a human. They choose their mate and the offering is made. Then it's someone else's turn."

"And you chose me," Stiles finishes, stupefied.

"Yes," Derek confirms. "Everything I feel for you is true, Stiles. I want to love you and take care of you. I want you to be mine and for me to be yours."

"But…you said the whole point of this is to reproduce. We can't."

"Oh, we can."

Stiles cocks his head quizzically to the side. "But we're both male."

Derek chuckles. "With a werewolf, that doesn't matter. If I turned you, your body would go through a change. You could carry my pups."

Startled, Stiles files that away for later, when he has more time to process it. He is beginning to get it now. "What else would it mean, to be your mate?"

Derek takes a moment, Stiles presumes to figure out the best way to put it. "It's not much different from a human marriage, I suppose. We would be bound together for life. You would leave your old life behind to come and live with me here, in my home. You'd meet my pack and you'd be welcomed as part of my family."

"Where is 'here', exactly?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" Stiles asks indignantly.

"I just can't. We aren't bound yet and it could put my pack in danger. Another hunt could break out."

Grudgingly accepting this, Stiles moves on. "And…the whole 'peeing on me' thing?"

Derek's mouth twists into a predatory smirk. "I was marking my territory."

"That's kinda gross, dude."

"I can't help it. When I'm in that form, I'm running purely on instinct. I had to make sure no one would mistake you as anything other than mine."

Breezing right on past that, Stiles glances off to the side before returning his gaze to Derek. "Do I have a choice in this? If I wanted to go back to Beacon Hills and never see you again, would you let me go?"

The older man looks as if he has been punched in the gut, but he nods. "Yes," he chokes out. "If that's what you really wanted…it would kill me, but I wouldn't stop you."

Stiles doesn't say anything right away. He is conflicted. Accepting Derek would mean leaving his old life behind, including his friends and his dad. Surprisingly, it _is_ actually an option. Now that he has had a little time to mull it over, Derek being a werewolf—while still shocking—isn't a deal-breaker. He doesn't want to leave everything he knows, but he is also aware that every cell of his body is drawn to Derek, even now.

He wars with himself. Stiles has never thought of himself as a selfish person. If his friends or his dad needed something, he would go out of his way to help them get it, often at his own expense. If he stays with Derek, his dad will be lonely. But if he doesn't, Stiles himself will go back to being lonely, without any romantic prospects. And Stiles is tired of being lonely.

There are very few people in town who understand him, who actually want to be around him, while his dad is beloved by all. Stiles remembers all the little exchanges he has had with Derek over the past few months, the book Derek had given him that afternoon, and his chest feels lighter.

He thinks he knows what he wants, but he has to test something first.

"I'm leaving," he announces, hoping Derek won't catch the lie. From the heartbroken expression that appears on his face, Stiles doesn't think he did.

"Oh…o-okay," Derek whispers. He turns away.

Stiles stares at his back, waiting for the man to protest or beg him to stay or even force him to. But Derek doesn't move or say anything else. Stiles exits the kitchen, walks down the hallway to the front door and opens it. When he looks back over his shoulder, he can see Derek still standing rigidly in place, letting him go like he said he would.

That solves it.

Stiles slams the door again and dashes back to the kitchen.

"I want to be selfish," he tells Derek, making him turn back around and frown at him. Stiles feels bad when he spots the glassiness of his hazel eyes, but he had to be sure he was making the right choice.

The werewolf frowns. "What?"

Instead of answering, Stiles throws himself at the man, the bed sheet falling to the floor. He wraps his arms around Derek's neck and his legs around his waist, clinging to him like a barnacle to the hull of a ship. The man stares up at him with cautious hope, and the expression is so endearing that Stiles bridges the gap and kisses him passionately.

Derek's hands come to clutch the back of Stiles' thighs just below his ass, his grip bruising as he reciprocates the kiss with everything he feels for his soon-to-be mate.

"Does this—" he asks between kisses. "Does this mean…?"

Stiles rests their foreheads together. "Yes, Der. I wanna be yours."

His eyes glowing red again, Derek kisses Stiles and walks them out of the room and toward the stairs.

"How do we do this?" Stiles asks nervously. "I'm new to this whole thing."

Derek chuckles. "I know. You being a virgin was the whole point, remember?"

"Oh…right."

"Don't worry; I'll take care of you."

In the master bedroom now, Derek lays Stiles back on the bed, strips quickly out of his clothes and climbs up next to the boy. He hovers above him on his knees and drinks him in. Stiles does the same thing.

Derek is just as beautiful as Stiles thought he would be. Even his tight clothes didn't do that body justice. The planes of Derek's torso look like they have been expertly chiselled from marble, his pectoral and abdominal muscles standing out in stark relief under the overhead light. His chest is covered in a field of dark hair, which continues down to his bellybutton and even further still. Stiles follows the trail with his eyes and gapes when he reaches between Derek's legs.

Surrounded by a thick thatch of curls, the werewolf's cock is long and heavy, nearly twice as big as Stiles' own. It's smaller than its werewolf counterpart, but Stiles knows it could still do some serious damage. Derek's balls hang low and swollen in this form, too, full of come that Stiles knows is going to be pumped deep inside his ass in the not-too-distant future. He shakes with how much he wants it, his hole clenching reflexively.

"Let me just check," Derek murmurs, his fingers dancing up Stiles' legs until they press between them, silently urging Stiles to spread them.

Stiles tenses momentarily when he feels the thick digits prodding at his tender ass, but when Derek kisses the inside of his thigh he relaxes and allows Derek's fingers to enter him. It's an easy glide.

"You're still so open and wet," Derek says reverently. "So full of me."

"Yeah…"

"Gonna fill you up even more. Make you burst with my seed," Derek says, his voice a growl. Stiles is unbelievably turned on, too.

When he is satisfied, the werewolf withdraws his fingers and slides his body between Stiles' legs. He holds himself over Stiles and silently asks him if he is ready, the tip of his cock pressing against the boy's hole like a filthy kiss. When Stiles gives his consent, Derek pushes forward and doesn't stop until he is buried to the hilt and his furry balls rest against the top of Stiles' ass.

The human groans as his sore channel is filled again. "God, you're still so _big_ …"

Derek's grin is arrogant. "Just think," he murmurs, beginning to move shallowly, "from today, you'll get to have this cock all the time."

"Yay for me," Stiles gasps, grasping Derek's back and digging his nails into the firm flesh. The sting makes Derek moan and increase the speed and depth of his thrusts. With each one he pulls out until just the tip of his cock remains inside and then quickly plunges back in, until he is fucking Stiles so hard the headboard smacks against the wall.

Stiles moves one of his hands up to tangle in Derek's dark hair and pulls him down so that their mouths clash. Teeth clack together and it's sloppy and messy, but Stiles wouldn't have it any other way. He finally has Derek on top of him like he has desired from the moment they met, and he is going to savour it. He always wants to remember this, even when he's old and grey, what he considers to be their true first time together. The sex in the woods was good, Stiles can admit that now, but this is something else.

He feels indescribably close to Derek, like there's some sort of holy connection between them. It's not just sex. He wonders idly if this is what people mean when they call it 'making love'.

When the wolf hits just the right spot, Stiles tugs hard on his hair and cries out, his head tipping back. The pain of having his hair pulled only seems to spur Derek on more. His thrusts get even more vicious and he lowers his mouth to Stiles' neck and left shoulder. He licks over the tiny marks that are still there from when he held the boy in place in the clearing, like he is apologising for being so rough with him.

Stiles doesn't care anymore. He keeps his fingers tangled in Derek's hair and just rides out the euphoria of being fucked by the man of his dreams.

After a few minutes of brutal fucking— _damn_ , does Derek have stamina—Stiles realises that the wolf is biting words into his skin:

"Gonna claim you…breed you up…make you swell with my pups…"

"So y-you were serious about that," Stiles says, hardly able to get the breath necessary to speak.

Derek detaches himself Stiles' neck looking entirely different. His brow is heavier, his eyebrows are gone, he has coarse hair down the sides of his face, blending into his beard, his eyes are a constant red and his fangs are out. Stiles supposes he should be terrified, but now that he knows exactly what is going on and with Derek inside of him and all around him, feeling his warmth, his hirsute skin, smelling the musky scent of his sweat…Stiles is both amazed that things devolved so swiftly and painfully aroused by the feral sight of him.

"You're _mine_!" Derek grits out, sweat dripping off of him. "Gonna knock you up…"

Sex-drunk, Stiles wants nothing more in that moment. He nods fervently. "Y-yeah, do it. Want it," he begs, pulling Derek down into another kiss. He tastes blood as Derek's fangs cut into his lips, but he doesn't give a damn, doesn't have room for anything in his mind but the man atop him.

The werewolf keeps fucking Stiles hard, full balls slapping against the boy's ass until the base of his huge alpha cock starts to swell again. Stiles feels it tugging at his abused hole and whines into Derek's mouth, his nails leaving burning scratches down Derek's back, some so deep that they draw more blood.

Just as the knot locks them together, Derek tears his lips from Stiles' and sinks his fangs into where the human's neck meets his shoulder, taking the faint impressions he'd made earlier in his alpha form and completing them, piercing the skin so deeply that there is no doubt in either of their minds that it will leave one hell of a scar. Stiles will be proud to wear it.

The pain is bright and instantaneous. Stiles screams so hard his throat is left raw and he clutches instinctively tighter to Derek, clamps tighter around his knot as he experiences his second orgasm of the night. His come is trapped between them, sliding sticky between their stomachs as Derek continues to shoot inside of him.

When Stiles' brain is functioning again, he thinks that he may not survive for long if every time with his new mate is this earth-shattering. He blinks blearily up at the ceiling, his whole body limp now as Derek swipes his tongue over the bite on his shoulder, his saliva somehow mitigating the dull, throbbing pain of it.

"That was…" Stiles breathes, unable to finish the sentence.

Derek pauses in his cleaning to rumble a quiet, "I know," that has Stiles smiling a dopy smile.

"What happens now?" he asks.

"The change isn't painless, but there's a reason the bite is traditionally given during a mating. You should sleep through most of it."

"So you screwing my brains out was part of the plan all along, huh?"

"Basically, yeah."

"And when I wake up, I'll be like you?"

Derek nods and carefully rearranges them. He hoists one of Stiles' legs up and turns him onto his side so that he can press up behind him, spooning him. "You'll be my omega."

"And…I'll be able to get pregnant."

Derek moves his left hand to Stiles' flat stomach and rubs lightly over it. "Mmhmm. You're going to look so amazing carrying our pups," he mumbles, tucking his chin over boy's shoulder and continuing to clean the bite on his shoulder.

"If you say so," Stiles says softly, close to falling under. Through barely open eyes he sees the book Derek had given him the previous afternoon lying on the nightstand, meaning that at some point Derek went all the way to his old house in Beacon Hills to retrieve it for him. "I'm gonna…I'm gonna sleep now, 'K?"

"Okay. Tomorrow, when you wake up, I'll give you a tour of your new home. My family can't wait to meet you."

A moment of silence passes, and then Stiles speaks again. "Derek?"

"Yeah?"

Stiles links their fingers together over his stomach. "I love you."

Derek huffs into Stiles' neck and, just as he senses Stiles finally lose consciousness, whispers back, "I love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, look what I did... Aspects of this were quite similar to my last PWP—the first sex scene, for instance—but I guess I just have wolf dick on the brain right now. :P Oh well. I regret nothing and hope you guys enjoyed this filth as much as I enjoyed writing it. I may expand upon this at some point in the future, turn it into a multi-chapter fic in which Stiles' dad launches a campaign to try and get Stiles back. Let me know if you guys would want that. If I _do_ end up writing it, don't expect it to start for quite a while. In the mean time, I'll still be posting other Sterek stuff, so stay tuned. :)
> 
> Thank you to [Pysslis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pysslis/pseuds/Pysslis) for this prompt. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be. If anyone has suggestions for other PWPs you'd like to see from me in the future, feel free to leave them in a comment down below and, as long as they don't feature something I don't like, I'll try to make them happen. _All_ suggestions are welcome, as long as they're Sterek M/M. ;)
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. I've got some good stuff planned. And feel free to check out my past fics if you haven't already. They're good, too.**


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